


Under My Roof

by orphan_account



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, Spanking, girl!Eames, top!arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After another whole AU story involving 17-year-old girl!Eames babysitting singledad!Arthur’s kid, this story addresses the fallout when Arthur discovers Eames lied about her age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under My Roof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [night_reveals](https://archiveofourown.org/users/night_reveals/gifts).



> This has not been betaed, so sorry for any and all mistakes.
> 
> Arthur is the president of the Downtown Business Improvement Association, which doesn’t have much to do with anything, except that the argument makes more sense if you know that. The rest is just porn, so I don’t think there’s any more explaining to do.
> 
> There’s a whole big story for this ‘verse that will be posted eventually. This future fic from that not-yet-posted ‘verse is a gift for my beta, [](http://night-reveals.livejournal.com/profile)[**night_reveals**](http://night-reveals.livejournal.com/) , because she’s the best and deserves all the porn. Also, since I now have her go-ahead to let the cat out of the bag, this whole babysitter AU is something we are co-writing.

Here are some pics I used as inspiration. Thora is the model for girl!Eames, with a pic of Tommy in makeup for comparison.  


And not that singledad!Arthur is difficult to imagine, but here are a few pics anyway. :D  


  


“You’re seventeen?!” Arthur is apoplectic, and Eames’s eyes go wide. She’s usually aware of Arthur’s potential for menace, she’s seen glimpses, but holy shit, this is actually fucking scary. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking,” he spits.

He reins himself in, but his fury fills the room, and if anything this is worse. “Do you have _any_ idea what position you’ve put me in? I could go to _jail_. I’m a public fucking figure, Eames!”

She stares at him wide-eyed, heart hammering in her chest, lump in her throat, and breathing shallowly. But, angry at herself for letting herself appear so weak in front of him, she carefully schools her expression and stance back to a calmness she doesn’t feel. She swallows, trying to get her mouth to feel a little less dry and purses her lips briefly before saying, “Would it have been better if I were eighteen? Would that have been good for your precious reputation, Arthur?”

“That is _different_ ,” Arthur says through gritted teeth, enunciating every word. “There are people who aren’t happy with what I’m pushing for with the DTBIA. Those people now have a _legitimate reason_ to have me kicked off the board. You have potentially fucked my career.” His voice has gradually dropped quieter and more intense, and he has moved closer, crowding her against the back of the sofa. “Do you even care? Did you consider the consequences of lying to me? No, you just waltzed in here and did whatever the fuck you wanted and let me go on thinking that the worst I was doing was fucking my babysitter.”

“It wasn’t my intention to fuck with your career,” Eames says. “But you can’t tell me you didn’t want this, no matter my age.”

Arthur places a hand on the back of the sofa and levels a piercing stare that effectively pins Eames in place.

“It seems to me,” Arthur says slowly, “that if I’m to be vilified for something I didn’t even know I was doing, I should at least get to enjoy the spoils.” He drops his other hand to the sofa back, bracketing her in.

Eames smirks, but Arthur’s face turns even harder and he shakes his head minutely. “You lied to me. In this house lying is not tolerated.”

The sharpness of his gaze is like the point of a blade pricking her skin; the sheer weight of his presence bears down on her. She’s jittery with the all-too-familiar sensation of being in deep shit, and she is frightened but at least it’s familiar territory. Truth be told, she kind of enjoys this part.

“Yeah, so what are you going to do, Arthur? Hit me?” she meets his gaze in a cool challenge.

His mouth twists in disgust. “Of course not.” He continues to stare at her. “Something tells me no one’s ever disciplined you before.”

Eames opens her mouth to taunt but Arthur interrupts her.

“No. Turn around.” He backs up half a step, drops his arms to his sides.

“And what if I said no?” she asks.

“Then you can leave. I won’t stop you. I won’t tell your parents, you can just be done. Or you can stay here and take your licks. Which will it be, Eames?” His voice has lost its edge.

She looks at his lips, a cupid’s bow she knows to be soft to the touch but right now is a hard line. But when she looks in his eyes, the chocolate brown of them contain none of the harshness of his previous words. She turns around slowly and places her hands on the back of the sofa.

A glance over her shoulder shows Arthur’s brief fond smile before his face reverts to its previous stern visage.

“Pull down your pants,” he says, and she feels a flush over her whole body. She undoes her jeans and pushes everything down. She gets as far as her knees when he stops her.

“That’s good enough. Hands on the couch again.”

She does, and closes her eyes. She’s been naked in front of him, has done filthy things with him, but she’s never felt this bare.

He lays a hand on her arse, stroking it gently and squeezing just a little. He moves in close.

Arthur runs his hand gently up her arm, caressing her skin. He speaks directly into her ear, so close she can feel the brush of his lips.

“You push so hard I think you’ve just been waiting for someone to push back.” He keeps kneading her flesh: her arm and her arse. Eames chews on her lip, waiting; he doesn’t make her wait long.

The smack, when it comes, is not unexpected but it makes her jump with a sharp little gasp. His hand is perfectly cupped to maximize the noise, so it sounds worse than it feels, but he rubs his palm soothingly over he skin.

And then another slap, this one harder, stinging. It makes her whole body ring like a bell and her fingers sink into the upholstery. She arches her back, half to better his access, and half because she knows what it does to her curves when she does.

“Harder,” she whispers.

She can feel him breathing heavily against her, his chest flush with her back again as he grips her arse cheek, fingers sinking into her flesh the way hers are doing to the sofa.

His lips on her ear again, he says, “What was that?”

“I said ‘harder’,” she says, louder this time. Her voice is a little hoarse and catches on the words.

“I thought so,” Arthur says, steely, as he mouths her ear, licks a lewd pattern over its contours. When he moves back, it leaves her ear cold, her arse exposed. The only point of contact is his hand on her arm, holding her firmly.

The next blow is a hard crack, no longer cupped -- the flat of his palm landing solidly and it hurts. She arches and moans, not even recognizing her own voice so needy. And that’s all the encouragement Arthur needs to carry on hitting, his fingers digging into her arm, her arse burning, feeling more tender with each hit.

When she thinks she’s used to it, can anticipate the rhythm and the sting has lost its edge, he switches hands, switches sides. His blows gain force, gain momentum and she tilts her hips to meet each slap. Later, she’ll remember hearing herself grunting but in the moment she’s lost, has stepped her feet back closer to him and rests her forehead on the sofa in front of her, sweat breaking on her brow.

He stops too soon; she nearly sobs in frustration. He mistakes it for pain and he wraps his arms around her, bringing her to standing. He presses his forehead into her shoulder.

“Oh god, Eames, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he mutters miserably.

She places her hands over his on her stomach and says, “No, Arthur! That’s not it -- it’s just, you stopped.”

He lifts his head and drifts one hand back around, reaches down curiously, glides it over her ass and slips it between her legs. The pad of his thumb slicks through her wetness and he groans. Using two fingers, he dips just inside in a single swipe and it’s too little. She tries to spread her legs for him but her jeans are still around her knees.

He helps her step out of them then spins her around, removes the rest of her clothes with brisk efficiency. He hoists her up with both hands, gripping the crease between arse and thigh and she wraps her legs around him, clings to him as he kisses her and perches her bum on the back of the sofa.

“You are a bad girl, aren’t you?” he says lowly, breaking the kiss. “A bit of discipline and you’re dripping for me. You just need a firm hand.” He dips his head to her breast, takes her nipple in his mouth and suckles just a little too hard. It makes her other one feel bereft, so she grips it, pinches it hard. He sees what she’s doing and knocks her hand away, replaces it with his mouth and rolls the wet one harshly with his fingers. She moans and arches, and he gentles his tongue, flicks it lightly before suckling, his brown eyes looking up at her while he does so.

When he stands, he adjusts his grip and lifts her, carries her off to his bedroom. She kisses his neck as they walk, gives herself over to whatever he has planned and her arousal is matched by a wash of relief -- at not having to fight, at not losing him over the discovery, at not having to make any fucking decisions for at least this moment.

When he drops her on the bed she begins to prop herself up on her elbows, but he shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “On your front,” he says. The look on his face is so focused, so intense, it makes her feel alive, _seen_.

She crawls up the bed, lays down on her front and pillows her cheek on her hands. The bed dips as he kneels up beside her, runs one hand up the back of her bare thigh. There’s no tease, no hesitation; he reaches her cleft and dips his finger in, smears wetness around her folds.

“Spread your legs for me, Eames.” She does, lifting her hips slightly and pushing her legs wide until she bumps his knee. He palms her inner thigh, then slides up, pushing his thumb all the way in. She squirms a little and tilts her hips, trying to grind onto it even though it’s not nearly enough.

“Stop moving,” he says, firmly but not harshly, and places his other hand on her leg, gentling her. “You’ll take what I give you, no more.” He pulses his thumb in and out, fingers grazing her thigh and it’s almost tickly, makes her want to move but he said not to.

He keeps one hand on the small of her back, dips two fingers into her pussy and brings them out, rubbing them onto her arse. “One day I’ll fuck you here,” he says, dipping just the tip of one finger into her tight hole and she gasps. He removes it and rubs circles again, pressing the pad of his finger against it a few times but not breaching her again. Then he glides his fingers back down along the length of her cleft, brackets her clit with his fingers and scissors. She jumps and spreads wider, squeezing her eyes shut and whimpering.

He moves away entirely, rolls on condom while she watches, entranced. His cock is solid, pointing upwards and she still can’t believe it’s come to this, even after all this time.

She’s surprised when he climbs on top and straddles her, taps her thighs to move them back together. He pulls one of her hands out, laces their fingers together, and with his other hand lines himself up. She has to tilt further, arching her back into a harsh curve to accommodate him but she does it without being asked.

When he pushes in it’s in one smooth thrust, and he holds there for only a moment -- enough to pull her apart a little with his thumb to see where he enters her.

“Jesus, that’s beautiful,” he mutters, mostly to himself, and begins to thrust. He falls forward, body pressing against her arse and her back, and it feels so comforting being pressed down by his weight. He grips her hand tighter and she turns to kiss him, messy and desperate, tongue reaching out to tangle with his in the air between them. He moves to her ear, licks the contours with firm strokes, sucks on her lobe. His breath is hot and loud in her ear, harsh as he fucks into her.

“My girl,” he murmurs. “So good for me.”

She pants, tries to shove her arse against him but his weight restricts her; she’s feeling crushed and trapped and perfect. She tightens her legs together, tries to clamp down on his cock and he groans, thrusts harder, faster, breathes her name.

It’s not long before he presses in hard, stutters to a stop and just breathes into her ear, tenses everywhere and utters a long, low “uh”.

She’s disappointed when he rolls off, ties off the condom and tosses it in the bin. She thinks that’s it, her punishment done; she wonders if she’ll have to leave now.

But he joins her on the bed, lays on his back and pulls her on top, kisses her deeply. When he pulls away, she thinks he’s going to want to talk, but he pulls her by the hips and says simply, “come up here.”

She crawls up his body, straddles his head as he moves his arms to wrap around her legs. She holds herself up just enough to give him free access, and groans as he unceremoniously latches on, suckling at her folds and stroking her flesh with his tongue. He reads her perfectly, begins to push gently at her clit when she’s ready, and purses around it when she’s close, sucking softly and flicking his tongue. Her orgasm, when it comes, is thunderous, wracking her body and he grips his arms tight around her legs to steady her.

When she finally stops shuddering, she knees back down, wraps herself around him and rests her head on his chest. He holds her, strokes one hand over the back of her head.

“What now, Arthur?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “Just stay right here for now. We’ll figure it out later.”

***End***

  



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